


No Promises

by stardustmelodies



Series: As We Go [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Ficlet, Light Angst, One Shot, POV Second Person, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustmelodies/pseuds/stardustmelodies
Summary: Jadzia/Kira - domestic scene, sitting up in bed one night, talking. Told from Kira's point of view. Second person. (Could be considered a part of my "As We Go" arc, but at a non-specific point along that timeline.)





	No Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Unfinished one-shot I found on my Google Drive. I don't remember where I was going with this. Consider it a snapshot.

Her fingers trace you.  They make patterns against your skin, as if trying to mimic those of her own. It’s second nature and almost hypnotic in its simplicity. The idea of being so thoughtlessly tender is enviable. 

You sit up in the bed. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s wrong?”

You turn. She hasn’t even taken her eyes from the document she’s reading. Were her hands acting on impulse, as to, it seemed, were her lips. And when you don’t answer after a few heartbeats, she moves to watch you with tempered, cool eyes. They are alien oceans with unfamiliar tides. It’s a concept you’re still coming to grips with. 

“Kira?”

_When will she tire of this familiar plotline?_ , you wonder, feeling a storm beginning to stir in the pit of your stomach. When will it become too much? When will she abandon your rocky shores and set sail for calmer seas?

“Where are we?”

“Your quarters, last time I checked.”

Before the glare has even finished forming of your face, she’s smiling. And her eyes have caught fire with that mischief so native to her face that you could set the clocks by it. She was predictably-unpredictable. A trait both easily lovable and agitating. And she must know how easily it undoes you, pulls the tension from your bones like a high-powered magnet. When she sees that this will not be a quick tangent, she sets down the tablet she’d been reading and folds her hands above the covers. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

You’ve raised up from the bed and found your robe, shrugging into it, despite the clear displeasure on your lover’s face. 

It was hardly late. She was a night owl. You preferred mornings. What was it that humans liked to say about how opposites attract? 

“Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Something’s always bothering you.”

Another sharp look; another playful smile. You were dancing. Sooner or later the music was going to stop. Even symphonies end, and you’d hardly consider yourself a masterpiece. 

“It’s nothing. I’m going to take a walk.” You go to your wardrobe and hunt for something to put on, finding a simple dress and slipping into it. 

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I just need some air. And to clear my head.”


End file.
